North Carolina

On December 22, 2014, Shelby Stephenson was appointed the ninth North Carolina poet laureate. Stephenson has authored several poetry collections and taught at both Campbell College and the University of North Carolina at Pembroke. He will serve as poet laureate until 2016.

upcoming events

date
Mar 01 2017
City Soul Cafe Open Mic

City Soul Cafe is the premiere spoken word poetry open mic in the triangle area. Come get on the mic and share your words with talented local poets from the Raleigh, NC area and hear nationally-known and award winning features from across the country. We are here at 44 Soul Cafe every Wednesday Night. Doors at 8:30 PM. Show at 9:00 PM.

8:30pm
7361 Six Forks Road
27615 Raleigh, North Carolina

recent & featured listings

typesort descending name state
Literary Organization Anson County Writers' Club North Carolina
Literary Organization Carolina African American Writers Collective North Carolina
Literary Organization North Carolina Arts Council North Carolina
Literary Organization North Carolina Haiku Society North Carolina
Literary Organization The North Carolina Poetry Society Inc. North Carolina
Literary Organization The North Carolina Writers' Network North Carolina
Literary Organization Poetry Alive! North Carolina
Literary Organization Winston-Salem Writers North Carolina
Poetry-Friendly Bookstore City Lights Bookstore North Carolina
Poetry-Friendly Bookstore Literary Bookpost North Carolina

poems

poem
In the moon-fade and the sun’s puppy breath,
  in the crow’s plummeting cry,
in my broken foot and arthritic joints,
                                       memory calls me
to the earth’s opening, the graves dug, again, and again 
I, always I am left
                   to turn away
into a bat’s wing-brush of air
poem
There was no water at my grandfather's
when I was a kid and would go for it
with two zinc buckets. Down the path,
past the cow by the foundation where
the fine people's house was before
they arranged to have it burned down.
To the neighbor's cool well. Would
come back with pails too heavy,
so my mouth pulled out
poem

Fuss, fight, and cutting the huckley-buck—Dear Malindy, 
Underground, must I always return to the country of the dead,

To the coons catting about in the trees, the North Carolina pines 
Chattering about sweetening bodies in their green whirring?

Do these letters predict my